and here. And the other two in a straight line down from them.”
He went very still. She was so close to him. He had no protection against this kind of spell. His craving for all things soft intensified. Her scent, clean, soap and shampoo, filled him. She was not quite touching him, but he could feel a delicate warmth radiating off her.
It seemed, dangerously, as if she could fill the something missing place in his life.
Nate knew he should back away from her a careful step but he didn’t. He tried to hold up the amulet of words again. “Hmm. Guys don’t think like that. For most men, it’s all about function, not form.”
But all the words did this time was make him more sharply aware of their differences, male and female, soft and hard, emotionally open and emotionally closed.
“Tell that to someone who hasn’t seen your work,” she said.
“I do try and marry form and function in my work.”
Now his amulet, words, had come back to bite him. He contemplated his use of the word marry in such close proximity to her, hoped it was completely coincidental and not a subliminal longing.
He could not help but feel he was being drugged by her closeness, the spell of her winding its way around him, stronger than all that physical toughness he possessed.
Because Nate still had not moved. He could smell that good, good smell that was all hers. Wholesome. Unpretentious. But alluringly soft, feminine, just like this space.
She seemed to realize suddenly that she had placed herself in very close proximity to him. She went as still as him, caught, too, in the unexpected bond of awareness that leaped sizzling in the air between them.
Then, stronger than him, after all, Morgan tried to slip away, back out under his arm, but he dropped it marginally, and they were locked together in the small space of the hallway.
He looked at her for a moment, the intensity between them as tangible as a static shock off a cat, or clothes out of the dryer. He was weakened enough. It was absolutely the wrong time to remember how soft her cheek had felt under his fingertips, and then his lips.
Nate was not seeing her as his daughter’s teacher right now. Unless he was mistaken, her eyes were smoky with a longing that mirrored his own.
But he had already buried a wife. And his best friend. To believe in good things again felt as if it would challenge even his legendary strength.
Even this situation should be showing him something important. He had vowed he did not want to tangle any further with the young schoolteacher.
And yet, here he stood in her front hallway.
Nate knew, the hard way, that life could be wrested out of his control. His young wife had gone out the door, Christmas Eve, for one more thing.
One more thing for Ace’s sock. He could even remember what it was, because she had told him as she went out the door laughing. Reindeer poop. Chocolatecovered raisins that one of the stores had bagged and labeled in tiny ziplock bags.
He’d been so glad to see her laughing, so happy to see her engrossed in getting ready for Christmas that he hadn’t really paid any attention to the snow outside.
Why had he let her go? Why hadn’t he offered to drive her?
And then, instead of Cindy coming back with reindeer poop, there had been that awful knock on the door, and a terrible descent into hell.
So, he knew, firsthand and the hard way, life could be snatched from your control.
It only made him more determined to control the things he could.
And he could still exercise some control over this. And he was aware that he needed to do it. The last thing he needed to do was give in to the insane desire to kiss Morgan again…And not on the cheek this time, either.
Congratulating himself on the return of his strength, feeling as Sampson must have done when his hair grew back and he pulled that building down, Nate dropped his arm, backed away. He needed to go now.
“Look, I’ll make you a mounting board for the coat hangers. I’ve got some really nice barn wood at home that I’d been planning to reclaim. I’ll fasten the board to the studs, so it’s nice and solid, and then put the coat hangers on that.” He looked at his watch. “Rehearsal is nearly over, Miss McGuire.”
And he was aware as he said it that it could be taken a number of ways. That their rehearsal was nearly over. And what would that mean? The real thing to follow?
He hoped not, but now that he had promised her the barn board, he knew his escape was temporary. He was going to have to come back and put it up.
Hopefully he would have time to gird his loins against her before he did that!
They got back to the auditorium just as Mrs. Wellhaven was wrapping up. Ace flew off the stage and into his arms, seeming remarkably unscathed by her hour in the clutches of the dragon.
He lifted her up easily, and he felt the weight and responsibility of loving her, of protecting her from hurt, from more loss.
He glanced at Morgan over his daughter’s head. His tangling with her teacher had the potential to hurt her. Bad.
“Guess what, Daddy?”
“What, sweetheart?”
“Mrs. Wellhaven says one of us, somebody from our class, is going to be the Christmas Angel! They get to stand on a special platform so it looks like they are on the top of the tree. They sing a song all by themselves!”
He knew this latest development had the potential to hurt Ace bad, too. His love for his daughter might blind him to her—like every father he thought his little girl was the most beautiful in the world—but he knew Ace’s was not a traditional beauty. With her croaky voice and funny carrottop, she was hardly Christmas-angel material.
“She’s letting all twenty-two of you think you have a chance of being the Christmas Angel?” He could hear annoyance in his voice, but Ace missed it.
“Not the boys, silly.” She beamed at him. “Just the girls can be Christmas angels. It could be me!”
Ace’s voice was even more croaky than ever, excitement and hope dancing across her very un-angel-like features.
Hope. Wasn’t that the most dangerous thing of all?
Nate’s eyes met Morgan’s over the top of Ace’s head. She didn’t even have the decency to look distressed, to clearly see how unrealistic his daughter’s hopes were.
He felt the weight of wanting to protect his daughter from all of life’s disappointments, felt the weight of his inability to do so.
“I should have beaned Mrs. Wellhaven while I had the chance,” he said darkly. And he felt that even more strongly the next morning at breakfast.
“Daddy, I dreamed about Mommy last night.”
Nate
